This morning my daughter climbed into
our bed to snuggle, and a tickle monster attack ensued followed by a game of “pillow”
(in which one person wants to sleep and the other is the moving pillow).

These mornings remind me of my
childhood. My brothers and I jumping onto my parents’ bed, my dad heating up
the griddle for pancakes and bacon. I don’t know if this was rare in my
childhood home or if it happened every weekend, but it is a strong memory. I
can nearly smell the syrup. In my memory, childhood weekends consisted of
cleaning, grocery shopping, visiting my grandparents and playing endlessly with
my brothers.

In my grown-up house, weekend snuggles
and big breakfasts are rare. It seems that open spaces on the calendar always
seem to me an invitation to schedule something “fun.”

But recently my husband told me he had
a goal of at least one day on the weekend in which he didn’t get into a car. We
drive—a lot—which is unfortunate because we both hate driving. Initially, I thought
he was just being a bit extreme (I mean what difference does it make if we
drive on the weekend?), but I decided to play along.

The first Sunday, I had strong urges to
run errands or do something else “productive.” In just three weeks, though, I’ve
realized the amazing power of carless Sundays. Vowing to stay out of the car
means I stay close to home. Maybe I head out for a run, take my daughter to the
playground, read a book or enjoy a family brunch at a neighborhood restaurant. Without
a gas-powered vehicle, my pace goes from 65 mph to about 10 mph.

Today, as I played Barbies and ponies on
the living room floor with my daughter, the NFL announcers yacking in the background,
it still felt a bit foreign to “do nothing.” Yet it also felt familiar—it felt
like home. It felt like something worth slowing down for.

Comments

BRAVO!! You've painted a picture of what it means to "stop and smell the roses!"

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About me

I’m a 40-year-old woman with a darling young daughter, a long-term marriage and an established career. To onlookers, I have it all together. But in rare moments when I'm solo in the car and a throwback song comes on the radio, I sometimes have an overwhelming urge to drink myself silly, dance my ass off and make-out with strangers.
Read more...I’m not that young or foolish any more, but I also don’t feel old (despite increasing wrinkles). I am caught somewhere between young and old and I’m not the only one. This blog is for those of us who are still dancing queens yet, rather than yearning for the good old days, are wise enough to recognize that this crazy, in-between, complex time in our lives is life’s sweet spot.
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